


Wasteland

by wonderluck



Category: Alien Quadrilogy (Movies), Alien Series
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 06:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16213349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderluck/pseuds/wonderluck
Summary: Paris is a wasteland full of possibility.





	Wasteland

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fairleigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairleigh/gifts).



After a graceless fall to Earth, the crew of the Betty was lucky to be alive. The ship stood, a smoking mess, on a barren hill. Vriess surveyed the damage from his limited view on the dusty ground and swore to himself.

Call wiped the water from beneath her chin. She had allowed herself an extra minute to wash the blood from her neck and hands before abandoning ship. 

Another time, another life, Paris could have held promise. She would have liked to see the lights, the Seine. Hell, her standards weren't high: she'd have been delighted to see a tree or a bird or a landscape that didn't look like it was rotting through. 

As they regrouped outside with their supply bags, Johner's attempt at civility was wearing thin.

"We're just gonna leave it like this?" he said, pointing to the ship.

"Like what?" Ripley asked, narrowing her eyes at him as she retied the laces of her boot.

Johner threw both his hands in the air. "Out in the open! I don't want anybody stealing our ride before we figure out how to get the fuck out of here."

Ripley shrugged. "If they take it, they take it."

Johner pulled a face and opened his mouth to answer, but Call cut him off.

"Unless you're hiding a giant tarp somewhere onboard, we're out of options."

No one waited for Johner to speak again. Call thrust a bag into his hands and he threw it on his back with little grumbling. Ripley and Johner carried Vriess between them with Call leading the way toward the city. Johner bitched the whole time and Vriess needled him while serving as lookout, facing backward with compact binoculars around his neck. 

"If you two don't shut up..." Ripley said, slightly winded, and they knew she meant business.

A breeze picked up, flinging strands of Ripley's hair against her cheeks. Vriess pulled the collar of his jacket tighter against his neck. 

Call squinted toward the horizon. "Uh, guys?"

A cloud of sand, tall as a building, appeared from the lowlands. 

Vriess craned his head around, trying to see. "What is it?"

"It's fucking trouble, that's what," Johner said, eyes darting around like a trapped animal.

They scanned the landscape in every direction. They were too far from the ship to make it back in time. 

"Think that house has any doors?" Call said quickly, her chin jutting in the direction of a distant structure. She couldn't quite make out the line of the roof, so she couldn't be sure it was intact.

Ripley pointed toward a fenced-in mountain of debris littered with half-crushed cars. "I'll bet we have more luck in there."

Call squinted in both directions. It was an even split between the two locations. "I'll take that bet," she said. 

They heard a low roar of wind approaching, picking up speed. "Come on!"

The ground was hard and unforgiving, dust kicking up into their mouths making the lack of water palpable. They skidded to a halt at the entrance to the junkyard and had to pick their way around scattered, broken things. They pushed toward the middle. 

"In here," Call said, pulling open a car door and motioning for Johner and Vriess to get in. Ripley and Johner hoisted Vriess toward the door, spilling him out onto the back seat. The car's hood was crushed against the front seats, and Johner climbed in after Vriess. 

Call trotted ahead, sand flying toward her eyes. She put a hand up to block the spray. She pulled at doors and tried windows, cursing at the rusted hinges. The wind howled behind them and then they heard the debris make contact with the outer cars, sand raining down on metal like hail. 

Call opened the back door to a cab, but the seat had worn away. She pulled open the passenger side door just in time for Ripley to get inside. She winced as sand scraped the back of her neck and she climbed in after Ripley, scrambling over her to the other seat. "Close it!" 

Ripley pulled at the door but the impact was more than enough to slam it shut. The car rocked to one side as the sand rolled over the car in an incessant stream of gray-brown, blacking out the windows. They braced themselves against the dashboard, the center console. Call held onto the steering wheel for no particular reason. 

They both cried out as a blast of wind knocked the car onto two wheels, and Call reached for Ripley's hand, holding it tight. When the car landed back on four wheels, neither of them let go right away. 

"How long do you think this will go on?" Call asked, a twinge of panic in her voice.

"We'll just have to ride it out." 

The storm had raged for an hour. They could hear bits of metal creaking and then breaking loose, skidding along the ground. Sometimes the debris would slam into the front of their car, making Call reach for Ripley's hand again. 

"I don't trust this glass to hold," Call said, eyeing the backseat. "We should get you away from that window." 

"Where would I go, exactly?"

Call dipped her head down and peered through the hole worn through the seat back. "In there?" She pointed to the dark compartment of the trunk. 

Ripley sighed. "I'll be fine. This'll end soon enough."

Not long after, a car's side mirror and a good portion of a door glanced off their windshield, scraping against the glass with a piercing sound. 

Ripley turned to Call. "Lead the way."

Call hoisted herself over the center console and into the backseat, ducking down as she felt the floor of the trunk with her hand. The floor was solid. She climbed through and into the darkness. Ripley followed. 

"So... Earth seems nice," Call said sarcastically as she shifted on her back, Ripley's shoulder against hers. 

"Paradise," Ripley said. 

Call laughed. She worked through their options in her head, running calculations and estimating the amount of daylight they had left. 

Ripley pulled her from her thoughts. "Were you really going to kill me?"

Call froze beside her. She'd almost forgotten. 

Her plan had been so clear: get onto the Betty, onto the Auriga, stab a woman in the chest, be a hero. A clone, she had reminded herself. Not a person, just something like it. She'd trade one life for millions, save the 12 sleeping innocents and the 5 not-so-innocent crew members, and probably die herself. It was a series of near-sighted goals, but what had there been to live for, anyway? She had lived for years as a lonely girl with too much information, a lot of self-loathing, and nothing to look forward to. 

But killing Ripley would have broken her. 

"I planned to, obviously," she said, gesturing with her hands, a nervous habit. 

She thought she could hear Ripley's heart beating beside her. "But would you have done it?"

"Probably," she said without a thought. 

Ripley waited.

"You think I'd've lost my nerve?" Call asked. 

"You don't seem like the killing kind."

Call felt a twinge of wounded pride, but she knew it was a compliment, sort of. "Not even for a good reason?"

"Not even then."

Call heard the slightest whisper of motion. Ripley had turned her head. 

"Can you see me?" Call asked. 

She turned toward Ripley and saw the outline of her face. She couldn't see infrared, but she could make out shapes in gray relief.

"Yep." Ripley's voice was louder next to her ear. "I could count your eyelashes if I wanted to."

Call swallowed. She was suddenly very aware of how cramped the trunk was. A tight fit for Ripley, less so for herself, but space was at a premium and her breath mingled with Ripley's and everything seemed very _close_.

She shifted again until her hip touched Ripley's, then her thigh. "You're warm," she said. 

"Am I?" Ripley asked as she stifled a yawn. 

"Didn't expect that." 

They lay quietly as the storm created a white noise effect outside. She wondered how Johner and Vriess were faring right before she fell asleep. 

"Where the hell are you?" Johner yelled through the passenger door some time later. 

Call started, sitting up quickly, only to hit her head on the ceiling of the trunk.

"You good?" Ripley asked, stretching her legs as much as she could in the constricted space. 

Call nodded, rubbing her forehead even though she knew it wouldn't help.

Ripley climbed from the trunk with Call at her heels. 

"Enjoying your stay so far?" Ripley asked. 

Johner gave her a sideways grin. "Time of my life."

"What the hell happened here?" Ripley asked. 

"I heard it was a plague," Vriess said. 

Johner shook his head. "Nah, it was nukes." 

"Call?" Ripley prompted.

Call shrugged. 

Vriess coughed and dusted off his pants. 

"Let's get somewhere safe," Call said.

***

They found a ramshackle apartment complex outside the heart of the city. The attractive façade had mostly crumbled and half the building lay in a heap of stone chunks and splintered timber. There were still more than a handful of serviceable rooms, but Ripley and Call took one room, while Johner and Vriess shared another. 

"For safety," Vriess reasoned aloud. 

Call nodded. "Better chances if there's an ambush."

Everyone agreed that more ears and eyes per room made sense. They didn't say that it was comforting, that they craved interaction to help them forget what had happened. 

The apartment was just a room with a sink and a bed and a large, film-coated window. The air smelled like musty laundry and every surface was caked with dust. Call used her boot to scrape away some of the dirt on the floorboards and set her bag down in the clean patch. The room had slightly more elbowroom than her normal quarters, which made up for many of the room's faults. 

Call left Ripley in their room and went to divvy up the supplies with Vriess. Johner hauled a small mattress through the doorway and dropped it to the floor beside what Vriess had claimed as his bed. The cloud of dust from the fall made Vriess cough fiercely. 

"Bastard!" 

Johner smirked at him. 

Call cradled hers and Ripley's share of the supplies in her arms and made for the door. "Don't have too much fun."

Johner watched her leave, eyes tracking every movement. "You sure you and Ripley don't have room for one more?"

"Fuck off," Call said and kicked out at his leg, but he withdrew his limb right before she connected.

Vriess provided the assist and threw a pillow, hitting Johner on the back. Call made her escape, leaving the two of them to bicker into the night. She grabbed an extra blanket from an apartment across the hall. 

As Call nudged open the door to her new home, Ripley unpacked some of Hillard's clothes from her bag. Call used the bed as her supply station, sitting cross-legged as she started to make two neat piles. 

She looked up just in time to see Ripley tossing a shirt onto the floor as she stood at the foot of the bed. She was naked from the waist up. 

"Jesus, Ripley!" Call diverted her eyes to the threadbare duvet. 

"Problem?" Ripley asked, pulling a clean t-shirt over her head. 

Call hesitated before looking up again. The t-shirt was obscenely tight, and Call felt overly warm and annoyed in equal measure. "Maybe warn me next time."

"Maybe," Ripley said with a slow grin full of mischief.

Call cursed her luck at this perfectly frustrating start to a friendship. She hoped they could be friends. She had the capacity for it, and Ripley seemed to have taken a shine to her. 

"What do you like to eat?" Ripley asked as she examined her pile of supplies.

"Not 'Do I eat?'" Johner's earlier comments had stung, and she hadn't shaken the feeling of a group of (mostly) humans staring at her insides. 

Ripley shook her head, brow knitted. "No." 

Call softened. "Sweet things."

Ripley smiled. "I should've known."

They shared a small meal, just enough to take the edge off Ripley's hunger and build up Call's strength. Call reached for a pack of water and gasped in pain. Her hand went to her injury, fluid sticky under her fingers. She grimaced. 

"What do you need?" Ripley asked, dropping her fork and gesturing to Call's wound. 

Call made a few suggestions and Ripley was out the door before she finished her last syllable. Call felt more relieved than someone should with a bullet rattling around inside them. She could hear Ripley moving at speed, rustling through cabinets and throwing open drawers. She was surprised the cacophony of sound hadn't roused Johner from his room. 

Ripley returned and scattered items out onto the bed, anything even close to what Call had asked for. 

"Should I get Vriess?" Ripley asked, looking concerned as Call picked through her options. 

"I'll be fine," Call said, but her voice said she was far from fine. She removed her jacket and Ripley took it from her, laying it gently beside her thigh. 

Call hesitated at her flight suit zipper and she wouldn't meet Ripley's eye.

"Really?" Ripley asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Call had always been shy. That she was even letting Ripley help her and see her like this — wires and tubes and lab-grown skin — was miles of progress.

Ripley watched as Call's fingers fidgeted at her collar. "You've seen mine," she said, as if that made it better somehow.

Call raised her eyebrows as she nodded tightly. "Yes I have."

Ripley laughed. "Let's get you fixed up."

***

The sink was coated in the white liquid Ripley had helped scoop from Call's chest cavity. She had gently prodded around for the bullet, freezing whenever Call winced above her. 

Now she held a mirror and flashlight as Call's fingers reconfigured the tubes in her chest. 

"Anyone ever tell you you're a badass?" Ripley asked. 

Call smiled and relaxed under Ripley's gaze. Ripley wasn't judging her. She didn't find her repulsive. All Call saw on Ripley's features were concern and just a hint of respect. 

The repair took time, but Call's hands were steady. She breathed a sigh of relief when Ripley finally sealed a bit of tape over her wound.

Exhausted, Call climbed into bed, thankful for the barest amount of softness. It felt good to have her boots off, good to have a clean shirt. The tape keeping her insides from spilling out pulled at her skin as she shifted under the sheets. Ripley took to the floor, fanning a blanket out over the dusty hardwood. 

"What are you doing?" Call asked, peering over the side. 

"I'm used to it," Ripley said.

Call wanted to insist that Ripley join her, to allow herself something pleasant, such as it was. She wanted to ask why Ripley thought she didn't deserve that. She said nothing. 

There was nothing but darkness in the space beyond their grimy window. She wondered again what had happened on Earth and if any life remained. She thought about how terrible it must have been at the end. 

A dull thump and Johner swearing loudly sounded through the wall. She listened to Ripley's soft, even breathing and tried not to think about her lost crew. 

Call didn't need sleep like humans. She lay awake for hours running diagnostics on her system and completing a full scan. 

Ripley stirred below. Call moved to the edge of the bed and watched her shift in slumber. Her dream was active. Her breaths were shallow and she twisted to one side. Ripley sat upright with a pained sound, her hand clutched at her chest.

"Ripley?" Call asked, swinging her legs over the side of the bed to quickly kneel beside her. 

Ripley dragged a hand through her hair as she composed herself. She stared at her palm, the one with the knife wound. She ran her finger along the rapidly fading scar. "Why do you feel pain?"

Call's forehead furrowed, the question taking her by surprise. "More realistic, I guess."

Ripley shook her head. "I don't understand why you weren't spared that."

Call had no answer. 

Finally, she stood and held her hand out to Ripley. "Come on," she said, indicating the bed with a tilt of her head. 

Ripley took her hand and followed, compliant. 

She slept through the night with Call's head pillowed on her shoulder.

***

They planned to scavenge and explore after breakfast. Vriess declined, complaining of a headache. 

Johner clapped him on the shoulder. "Watch our shit. Maybe we'll bring you something shiny."

He earned an aggressive middle finger from Vriess. 

"I'll miss you too."

Paris was a ghost town crowded with ruins. 

Many streets crisscrossing the landscape were completely impassable with stone and concrete spilling from demolished buildings. They had to climb over rubble — one leading with shaky steps, pulling the others to safety — in the streets they could access. Bisecting the city was the Seine, reduced to a dirt-filled canal teeming with scattered bones. 

After a few unsuccessful searches, Johner bailed. They weren't surprised.

"If we need any alcohol, I'm sure Johner will have stocked up," Call said. "Doubt he'll bring anything useful back."

Ripley and Call gather tools and clothes and anything else that might be of use in the near future. They had no idea how long they'd be on Earth, or if they would ever leave, or if they would even make it another week. Might as well stock up for the long haul.

"Over here!" Call stood near an armored vehicle, doors ajar. A skeleton in military dress slumped halfway out of the doorway with an arm dangling to the ground. 

Call tried to climb into the vehicle, minding the dead soldier, one leg in and a hand bracing herself on the headrest. 

"Oh for christ's sake," Ripley said, exasperated, and tossed the skeleton out of the car. It landed with a loud rattle. Call wrinkled her nose. 

Call climbed into the back with ease, boots scuffling over piles of sand and discarded bullet casings making an eerie scraping noise on the floor. She rifled through the metal cabinets lining the walls, clanging the doors open. She tossed the useful items out to Ripley: water packets, military-grade emergency meals, a first aid kit. 

"Why hasn't more of this been picked over?" Call asked, bagging the food stores they found almost in plain sight. 

"Maybe a mass die off," Ripley said. "None of this was in the government files?" 

Call paused to search her memory. "Nothing concrete." 

Ripley strode over to the skeleton as Call shook the contents in the bag to pack them down. Ripley's eyes searched the bones for clues. A few bones had shattered in the landing, but all the appendages were still there. She didn't see any signs of knife or bullet wounds. The vertebrae of its spine turned to dust in her fingers. She moved the skull to inspect it. There were only two teeth left in the jaw. 

"They were sick," Ripley said, dusting off her hands and returning to the truck.

A feeling of dread settled in the pit of Call's stomach and didn't let go.

***

It took a week for them to settle into a routine: get up when the sun rose, scavenge, fix the ship, go to bed exhausted. They found time to eat and converse with the rest of their crew between tasks. 

Johner suggested strip poker over breakfast. 

"I've got some cards in my pack," he said with a grin. He was not content to leave any opportunity for vulgarity untaken.

"Not a chance," Ripley said. She fixed her gaze on Call with a slight tilt of her head like she was sizing Call up for later. 

A good third of Call's waking hours were occupied with thoughts of Ripley (more than half if Ripley had her arm flung over Call's chest as they slept): every suggestive comment, the possible pitfalls of dating an alien-human hybrid clone, the way she felt when Ripley looked at her and why it made her want to climb Ripley like a tree. 

And at the moment, any doubts and hang-ups were in danger of going right out the window.

Call's train of thought dissolved as she spotted blood running from Vriess' nose. "Hey, you've got something..."

"Aw, shit!" Vriess wiped at his nose and stared at the blood on his fingers. 

Ripley and Call shared a look. 

Johner's cough set in not long after.

***

They trekked through silent streets, widening their search area, and taking in the vast destruction. No building was left unmarred. A commercial airplane lay in pieces throughout the city, having cleared numerous blocks in its path. 

They took anything useful they could find, entering the easy stores through their broken front windows, glass crunching beneath their boots. They hadn't come across any hospitals yet, and their desperation for medical supplies was looming. 

"There must've been bases here," Call said. "Where was the military stationed during all of this?"

The streets finally opened up to large, barren spaces. Boulders and downed fences dotted the landscape. Charred patches of soil and sporadic craters lay before them, and Call began to think Johner's theory wasn't far off.

"What were they keeping out?" Call asked, thrusting her chin toward the fences. Ripley's look said she felt uneasy too. 

They followed one of the fences until they saw a series of buildings in the distance, slanted like the bulk of the structure lay underground. 

They searched all of them methodically. Their flashlights bounced off metal tables and overturned chairs, the occasional skeleton in fatigues, food stores stacked in a corner. Medical supplies were limited to masks and bandages and pills. 

Call was increasingly frustrated and stomped a bit harder than usual as she climbed the stairs back into the sunlight. 

Ripley ventured into a side building while Call went around back. She nearly fell into a pit as she rounded a corner. 

"Ripley? Let's go." Her voice trembled. 

"Hang on, Call," Ripley answered from inside.

Call's voice was tight, desperate. "Now!" 

Ripley's fast approaching footsteps sounded behind her. She joined Call at the edge of the pit — it was full of bodies. The dried white liquid, pale against dark clothing, confirmed the bodies weren't human. The androids were stacked like matchsticks, crushed or torn apart, the left sides of their heads missing entirely. 

Call was holding her good side like the sight of her kind, twisted and discarded, physically pained her. She fell to her knees as images flashed through her mind, unstoppable: her friends, her brothers and sisters, some who shared her face and others not, screaming as they were hauled from their rooms. Hiding in a machine workshop while footsteps, loud as the drum at a death march, moved down the corridor. White blood coating the floor beneath her feet, the smell of burnt plastic thick in the air, as she threw open doors and grabbed who she could. They bolted from the building, bowling over a guard on their way out the door. 

It had been unbearably cold in the sewer system, and the torch burning the modem beneath her hairline provided a jarring contrast. She set her jaw firm as she did the same for her companions. They had tried to go back for survivors, but the strewn limbs on the building's loading dock told them there was no hope anyone had made it out.

"We'll go," Ripley said, squeezing Call's shoulder as tears streamed down her cheeks. Call sniffed and wiped at her eyes. 

***

"You need repairs."

Ripley had broached the subject of harvesting parts from the android grave. It was ill advised.

Call scoffed and backed away. "You don't get it, do you? We're not scraps you can just use however you like." 

Ripley's brow furrowed. "They don't need them anymore."

Call shook her head. "I expected more from you. Maybe I shouldn't have."

She slammed the door on her way out. She settled for an apartment down the hall and paced the floor. 

She heard Ripley's door open and shut not long after. Ripley's boots connected on the hardwood with purpose, and Call braced herself for another round. She would make Ripley understand.

But there was no knock on her door. Ripley's footsteps faded as she descended the stairs.

When Call awoke the next morning, she reached beside her and remembered that Ripley was back in their apartment. She had fumed for a good portion of the night: at Ripley, at herself, at her creators. 

She opened her door. She would talk it through with Ripley. Before she stepped into the hallway, she looked down to see a little jar in her doorway. She crouched down to examine it.

It was a jar of honey.

***

They were going to find a hospital. They would search again all damn day and night and the next if need be. 

Call saw some promising candidates down a side street. "This way."

She was tired of walking. She didn't want to explore the city anymore. She didn't want to have to save anyone again, though she'd never say the words aloud. Ripley said them for her.

They heard a howl of wind and froze where they stood. A storm erupted in the distance, speeding toward them. 

"We need to go!" 

Call spotted stairs leading to a door underground and pointed as she ran. "There!"

Ripley could barely hear Call over the roar of wind, the sand blasting against buildings as it bore down on them. She tackled the stairs two at a time with Call on her heels. 

It was a windowless shop with a metal door. A pile of sand had gathered in front and Ripley kicked it aside. She snapped the door handle down and broke the lock. She used her shoulder to finish the job and burst inside. 

They heard glass breaking less than a block from them, the storm a wild thing, almost alive, barreling toward them. Ripley pulled Call inside as she slammed the door shut, the wind pushing at her. Call threw her back against the door, feet planted in front of her, leaning hard. 

The first blast rocked against the door with a loud rattle. They held it closed as the storm pushed past them and continued in a steady stream. Ripley huffed out a breath as her muscles strained, leaning all her body weight against the door. 

"I'm so tired of this shit," she groaned. 

They held back the storm for what seemed like ages with Call scanning the inside of the shop for any danger. It was dark and nothing moved inside.

As the strength of the storm began to weaken, Ripley sighed. 

"I'm gonna look around. Can you hold it on your own?"

Call nodded and shifted her weight as Ripley let go. Ripley stalked to the back of the store. Call could hear things tossed aside, scraping against shelves, falling to the ground. Drawers sliding open, closing abruptly, an irritated noise from Ripley. 

"Nothing," Ripley said as she returned, brushing sand from her vest. She leaned against a counter, the picture of casual. She glanced around the room and Call followed her gaze. It was then that they realized exactly what _kind_ of shop they were in.

Sleek glass shelves lined the walls with small boxes stacked in open cabinets beneath. Call couldn't see what colorful items had toppled over on the shelves, but she had a good idea because a rack of handcuffs and various restraints stood prominently against the opposite wall. Ripley glanced at Call, a slow smile gracing her lips. She knew Ripley's memory did not fail her in this instance.

Ripley wandered the store picking up various contraptions: things with buttons, things with straps, glass, silicone, metal alloy. She was nonchalant, like she was shopping for boots. As Ripley stared at her, Call could tell that Ripley liked to watch her squirm. She couldn't blink.

Ripley blew the dust off a box and stuffed it in her pack.

"Can I get you something?" Ripley asked, voice low and measured. She shoved another item into her bag that Call thought was _pretty damn presumptuous_ , but it flooded her with heat all the same. 

Call nearly let go of the door. Better to take her chances with Mother Nature than stand helpless while Ripley teased her mercilessly.

"Might as well help yourself. Who knows how bored you'll get?"

Call swallowed and tried to find her voice. "This is very... personal." Her back slipped down the door a foot before she caught herself. Ripley pretended not to notice.

"That's what makes it fun." 

***

The sliding metal doors of the hospital were locked. One door was dented heavily from someone else's unsuccessful attempt to gain entry. A smear of blood had dried on the door. Call thought it looked like blood, but hoped against hope that it wasn't. They shared a grim look.

"Here goes nothing," Ripley said as she wedged her fingers between the doors. She started to pull. Call joined in on the same door when a tiny gap appeared, fitting slim hands into the space and pushing. Ripley planted her feet and leaned back, causing the door shift as she grimaced from the effort. 

"It's starting to give," Call said, excited. 

"Hold it there." Ripley came around to Call's side and positioned her hold higher on the door, crowding Call who crouched lower. "Okay, push with everything you've got."

Call nodded and they leaned as hard as they could, muscles straining, a light sheen of sweat appearing on Ripley's brow. 

The door slid open with a whine of metal on metal, a sound close to a screech. 

Call smiled widely and peeked her head inside. "Let's-" Call stopped mid-sentence and let out a cry of frustration.

Ripley followed Call's gaze. The floor of the entryway into the hospital had fallen through — a gaping hole spanning one wall to the other. The hole went back at least three body lengths. 

"I'll never make it," Call said. 

Ripley rolled her head from side to side, stretching her muscles. She swung her arms in wide circles to loosen her shoulders. 

Call looked puzzled. "What are you doing?" 

Ripley shook out her hands as she finished and stood at Call's side. She grinned knowingly and lifted one eyebrow. "Throwing you."

She picked Call up by two handfuls of the back of her flight suit and flung her across the black expanse. Call shouted the entire way, landing on her hands and knees on the other side. The toes of her boots hung over the edge and she scrambled forward to get clear. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she yelled as she turned to face Ripley, her expression the picture of rage. But Ripley was in mid-run toward the doorway, launching herself through the air, and landed on her feet with a slight wobble. Call grabbed her by the arm to steady her. 

"Aw, you do care."

"That was an asshole move."

Ripley shrugged. 

Call scowled. She turned on her heel and stalked toward the hallway branching right. Ripley followed close behind. 

When they found the oxygen tanks on the second floor, Call grabbed one by the upper handle and braced herself. The tank came off the ground easily and Call lost her grip. The tank clanged on the ground. 

The tank was empty. All of the tanks were empty.

"Damn it!" Call yelled, and she barely resisted the urge to kick down the tanks like bowling pins. "What are we going to do?"

She searched Ripley's face for any sign of hope and found none. 

"We'll step up the schedule," Ripley said, like it would be easy.

They returned with a wheelchair. At least they came away with something of use.

***

Nothing Ripley did was subtle. She said and did what she wanted, and that was what really got Call worked up. 

Call had lived hidden most of her existence. She questioned all of her actions — Did that comment give her away? Was her reaction authentic enough? — and scrutinized her motivations. Was everything programming? Was anything about her organic? 

So when she finally accepted that her feelings for Ripley were not going away (and who was she kidding when she thought she could just be her friend), Call dissected it all: Was this some unknown program? Friendship had been one thing, but was she programmed for more? Had she evolved on her own?

After a long day of work on the Betty, Call posed these questions to Ripley, rushed words and downcast eyes. Ripley just smiled at her. 

"You like me," Ripley said, drawing out the words with a lilt in her voice.

"Well, yeah, but how? What does it mean?"

"Are you skipping gay panic and going right to android-with-romantic-feelings panic? We don't have to do gay panic second, do we?"

"This isn't funny, Ripley."

"I didn't say it was," Ripley said, but couldn't suppress the smile tugging at her lips. "'How did it happen? What does it mean?' Who fucking cares?" She moved closer. "Do you want to kiss me or not?"

Call studied Ripley's face looking for any sign of teasing, and when she found none, she smiled shyly and nodded. 

Ripley took the initiative for her. She leaned in and kissed her softly.

She sensed Ripley bending her knees to accommodate her height and smiled against Ripley's lips. Kissing Ripley did not feel like programming, a buried protocol placed there by her makers. The kiss was all her, improvised and unfamiliar. 

She marveled at the softness of Ripley's lips, the feel of her skin beneath her fingers, and Ripley's heart betraying her cool exterior, thundering in her chest. The effect she had on Ripley made her bold, and she drew Ripley closer to her by the hip, pulling them flush together. Ripley moaned into her mouth, and Call wanted to shout her delight. 

She no longer cared what her reactions meant or what their origins were. She didn't care if her motherboard was executing the most basic programmed response — arousal.exe — she just knew she needed Ripley's hands on her. 

Call took Ripley by the hand and led her down the hall to her quarters. She threw open the door. Ripley took Call's face in both hands and kissed her until Call felt weak in the knees. 

Ripley guided them backward until the edge of the bunk hit Call behind the knees. Ripley gave her a nudge until she sat down, and Ripley climbed onto her lap. Call clutched the front of Ripley's shirt and moaned as Ripley caught Call's bottom lip between her teeth. Call watched wide-eyed as Ripley ground her hips against her and broke away to pant against Call's cheek. 

Ripley unclasped Call's hand from her shirt and held it to her chest, releasing her hand when Call responded eagerly. Ripley swallowed hard. Call's fingers tightened around one of Ripley's nipples, and Ripley wrapped a hand around Call's throat, a thumb pressed beneath her chin. Her mouth was set in a hard line, and Call couldn't help but squirm. 

Call squeezed harder. Ripley darted her tongue past Call's parted lips, swallowing her whimper. She pulled back and Call tried to follow her to kiss her again, but Ripley moved to scrape her teeth along Call's jaw, soft bites, and she shifted to wedge her thigh between Call's. 

Call groaned. "Ripley, please..." 

Ripley's free hand dragged Call's flight suit zipper down past her waist and slid inside. Call gasped sharply. Ripley held her grip on Call's throat as her hand began to move. 

Call all but whined, voice stretched beyond its usual cadence. She felt lightheaded. Ripley watched her, studied her face, head canting to one side, and Call found she didn't mind. She smiled at Ripley through her shuddering breaths — a genuine, beaming smile — as her hips moved with Ripley's insistent hand and then she was lost, gasping and shaking.

She kissed Ripley as she unbuttoned her pants, while Ripley tossed her vest to the ground. Call paused and moved to the hem of Ripley's shirt, pushing it up toward Ripley's neck, fingers trailing along her skin. She leaned forward and brushed her lips over Ripley's nipple. Ripley's hands rested on Call's shoulders, her brows drawn together. Her breaths grew ragged. Ripley fumbled blindly for Call's hand, her grasp solid. Call obliged, shifting back to allow her hand to slip inside Ripley's pants. 

Call barely touched Ripley, a whisper of friction, before Ripley curled in on herself, face buried against Call's shoulder, holding back a cry behind clenched teeth.

They missed dinner that night.

***

Ripley went over piloting basics with Vriess every night. She took to the wall with bits of burnt timber, drawing the cockpit switches and gears, running through the proper sequence. Vriess tried to dismiss the basics. He'd got them on the ground, after all. Ripley wasn't having it. The lessons went on for hours. When one bit of char crumbled on the wall, she picked up another from the pile at her feet. Call had been anxious about the lessons and took it upon herself to gather enough char to fill a barrel. 

Ripley pulled Johner in to listen once his complaints dried up.

Call asked about her progress, trying not to seem too eager. 

"They'll do fine," Ripley answered, "as long as Johner listens and doesn't break anything."

Call had faith in her. Ripley would set them up for success as best she could.

***

Call was on a mission to find a library. Ripley rolled her eyes at the idea, but had nothing better to do. 

Books had been Call's solace. While her human crews slept, she lost herself in words. She'd never had a physical book of her own, but on this planet she could have anything she wanted as long as she looked hard enough. 

They chose the easiest route. Streets to the north had a handful of clear alleyways. Bones littered the doorways, trapped there by passing windstorms. Call grimaced. 

"Think we'll end up like them?" Call asked. 

Ripley didn't slow her pace. "There's no point in worrying about it." She started up a pile of rubble, easy steps while Call's footing was less sure, and Call marveled at her agility. Probably another gift from her alien brethren. Call didn't envy the tradeoff. 

Ripley took her hand as they trekked down the last of their obstacle. "We'll do the best we can."

By the time they entered their fifteenth crumbling building, Call had almost given up for day. 

"This looks promising," Ripley said as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

Banks of computers flanked opposite walls. Banners with adages about learning and discovery hung from the ceiling in tatters above rotating shelves of personal tablets. All batteries were long dead. Ripley tried the power buttons anyway.

Call walked the aisles, but saw nothing made of paper.

She frowned. "This can't be it," she said. 

She searched the perimeter of the room until she found a door to the basement. 

"Bingo," she said, descending the stairs. 

The room opened up into rows of shelving lined with books. The bottom rows had decayed. A dark line ringing the room's walls suggested a flood had come and gone.

Call ran her fingers along the rows of books. She looked at a few titles, but opted not to be choosy. She pulled a book from each section of shelves, stuffing them into her pack until she could barely close it. 

She eyed Ripley's bag, slung over one shoulder, and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She hadn't exactly asked Ripley to haul books for her before they set out. 

Ripley sighed as she swung her bag forward and held it open. "I guess I knew what I was getting into."

***

Call could sense every shift of response in Ripley's body: the tempo of her breath, her skin temperature, her muscles flexing and releasing. Every twitch was detected, every shiver, and the magnitude of each was quickly catalogued and memorized and put to action. 

Call's touch landed on Ripley in a way she tuned to make Ripley's nerve endings vibrate. 

So when Ripley nudged her awake in the middle of the night, a look of raw desperation on her features and a ready harness clutched tightly in her hand, Call knew it wasn't intended for her. 

Call's brows drew together briefly, her head still fogged from a dream she couldn't recall. She felt a bit out her depth. 

Ripley began to pull away and Call knew she had mistaken her puzzling things out as rejection. She placed her hand on Ripley's cheek and smiled. 

Ripley's tongue darted out to moisten her lips and she nodded, shifting down and fitting the straps over Call's legs, bringing them up to secure over Call's hips. She pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Call's stomach right below the fresh tape covering her injury. She leaned up and her eyes swept over Call's form, lips parted. Call adjusted the toy by the base, growing used to the pressure and Ripley's lips were on hers immediately, relief in every shuddering breath she took between rough kisses. Call's fingers dug into Ripley's biceps and she squirmed against the bed. 

Ripley released her mouth only long enough to straddle Call's hips and hold Call's wide gaze as she lowered herself down. Her eyes did slide shut at that moment, her body trembling as she adjusted. Call smoothed her hands over Ripley's thighs with wonder. She hadn't known how much she wanted this and was impatient for what came next. She held still. 

When Ripley's eyes opened, they held a wild glint. Ripley set a steady pace, hands braced on Call's ribcage which made Call's skin tingle. Pleasure fired over her synapses. Ripley's concentration was as focused as ever, brows drawn together, mouth slightly parted, her stomach trembling under Call's wandering hand, her other hand in a death grip on Ripley's thigh. Call dared to thrust upward, experimenting, and Ripley fell forward, tongue pushing into Call's mouth, hot and deep and demanding. Call savored it, sucking on Ripley's tongue until Ripley groaned and clutched at her chest. 

Ripley leaned back up, sweat glistening on her skin, hips swaying. She reached behind her and Call felt fingers graze between her thighs, right where she wanted them, and she jerked upward with a needy whimper. Call rocked against her hand, rolling her hips upward, much to Ripley's approval, one hand steady on Ripley's hip. She didn't want to peak yet, but she was so, so easy. Ripley's hips worked faster, and her fingers slid quickly over Call until she felt the beginnings of sparks along her circuits, her muscles tightening. Ripley gripped her around the middle and abruptly flipped onto her back with Call pressed against her and Call's hips stuttered her orgasm between Ripley's thighs, soft cries exhaled against Ripley's collarbone. 

Call's braced her hands on either side of Ripley's head as her face relaxed. "That was interesting," Call said, smiling down at her. 

Ripley pulled at Call's hips, and her voice was thick with need. "Don't make me wait." 

Call gladly gave Ripley what she wanted. 

She knew she should care about the sound Ripley was making, but Ripley's hand was in her hair, the other grasping her hip, and she would be loath to stop any of it. She kept moving, never slowing, sweat prickling at her skin, watching each feeling course through Ripley with delight. Ripley urged her on with gasped encouragement, wrapping her legs around Call.

Ripley pushed a hand between them and her fingers worked quickly, her knuckles brushing against Call's lower belly. Call felt liquid heat running through her body again, grinding her hips into Ripley and matching her labored breaths.

Call leaned closer and kissed Ripley until her head snapped back and Ripley emitted guttural cries, writhing under her, as Call pushed her through.

***

The morning sun was unbearably hot as it beat down through the windows, unimpeded.

Vriess knocked at their door. "Call? Are you up?"

He pressed his ear to the door and heard rustling inside. 

"One second!" Call shouted.

Something crashed inside the room followed by an audible "Ow!" from Call. 

Footsteps approached and he heard Call hiss, "Ripley! _Ripley_!" before the door was flung open. Ripley stood in just a t-shirt and underwear. She gave him a casual look and quirked an eyebrow, and Vriess averted his eyes.

"Just... just came to see about breakfast."

A pair of pants landed at Ripley's feet. She ignored them, and Vriess heard Call's aggravated muttering inside the room before she appeared at the door fully clothed.

She shoved Ripley out of the doorway. "Put some damn clothes on!" She looked at Vriess sheepishly and gave him a half-hearted smile. "I'm sorry. Seems she was born without manners."

He smiled back, but his eyes gave him away. His expression was the same as the moment he learned she was a second gen. "Better get back before Johner eats my share."

As Call shut the door, she fixed a steely look on Ripley. "Why did you do that to him?"

Ripley shrugged.

"Were you trying to be cruel?"

Ripley still looked indifferent. "He has no idea what's going on. I'm sure you're still the queen of his heart."

"You came to the door in your underwear!"

Ripley tugged on her waistband and frowned. "I think these are yours."

Call flopped back on the bed with a frustrated sigh.

"Okay," Ripley conceded. "Maybe some idea." 

It took two more days before Vriess could talk to them without looking dejected. Call treated him the same as she did before: like a friend. Ripley gave him a bit of space, but the two were playing poker by the end of the week. Ripley was competitive. She was also terrible at cards.

***

Johner's cough became a sharp, pained wheeze. Every breath was a struggle. Vriess couldn't do much more that sit up in bed. Nosebleeds were a regular part of his day.

Call took out her frustration on the ship. When something didn't move or close the way she wanted, Ripley would find her smacking them and cursing their existence. Call could swear with the best of them.

This time, the bay door refused to budge. The controls flashed red at her whenever she tried to punch in commands. She made a frustrated noise and kicked the door. The control panel flashed a warning, so she slammed her hand into the metal beside it. Ripley appeared beside her, whisper quiet, and Call would never get used to that. She stilled Call's hand. Call looked at her with tears gathered on her lashes.

"What if they die before we finish?" Call asked, her voice breaking.

Ripley looked at Call, concern etched into her features. She stroked a hand along Call's cheek. "We won't let them."

Call pulled her closer. Ripley wrapped her arms around her. She stood with Call quietly until she seemed to soften.

"You're on welding duty today," Ripley said.

"Oh, come on," Call complained, but it was half-hearted. She was glad for the distraction, and she gave Ripley a smile before heading for the junkyard.

Call wrested a flat piece of scrap metal from the junkyard and dragged it to the Betty where she cut it to size. She held it over the broken window.

Ripley entered the room. "Well aren't you a sight?" she said, eyeing Call appreciatively.

Call held a welding torch in her hands and rolled her eyes behind dark goggles. She smirked at Ripley.

***

After watching the Betty break atmosphere, they headed home. 

Call sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her hands. "Well, it's just you and me now."

Ripley joined her and kicked off her boots. "What should we do?"

"Normal people would celebrate a success."

"We're not normal."

Call hopped up off the bed. "I know," she said, crossing the room with a sly grin. "But maybe we'll open the champagne anyway."

"The whiskey would be faster," Ripley said.

"Johner drank that days ago."

Ripley watched skeptically while Call struggled with the bottle, digging at the cork with her knife. 

"I can get it," Call said, holding up a hand when she sensed Ripley moving toward her. 

"You seem pretty invested in this," Ripley said. Her hands rested on her hips while she watched Call work.

The cork finally yielded. Call took a breath and smiled. Their day had been exhausting and now they had nothing waiting on them, no danger nipping at their heels. Their time was their own.

Call held out the bottle to Ripley. "Bottoms up."

Ripley took a sip and grimaced.

"That good, huh?"

Ripley wiped her mouth. "I think I'll pass." She handed the bottle back to Call, who set it on the ground.

"It's wasted on me."

Ripley nodded. "I used to throw that stuff back with my crew, before." She took a deep breath. 

They climbed into bed, bone-weary. Call pulled Ripley closer and tucked her head under Ripley's chin. 

"I think I'd miss that life, if I could remember," Ripley said and kissed the top of Call's head. "But this one's not so bad."


End file.
